


Smiting

by BrandSpankingNew



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bisexuality, Castiel and Dean Winchester Have a Profound Bond, Castiel's Unsexy Word Choices, Cuddling & Snuggling, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Non-Consensual Spanking, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sexual Content, Spanking, The Pizza Man (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-05-15 20:07:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19302928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrandSpankingNew/pseuds/BrandSpankingNew
Summary: It started with the pizza man.Dean was always the one who got roped into this kind of thing, so when Cas cannot understand why the babysitter liked it when the pizza man spanked her, he tried to explain.Castiel misunderstood the finer points about consent and things took a darker turn.The fallout was huge.Can this rift be mended, or will this be the thing that severs their profound bond?





	1. Dean

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks to ficwriterjet, who allowed me to bounce ideas off of her, read my rough first chapter, and encouraged me to try posting something a little smutty for a change. 
> 
> Cheers, my dear.

“That's very complex,” Cas said clinically.  From the corner of his eye, Dean could see him staring at the TV screen with an intense fascination.  
  
“M-hm,” Dean murmured, not looking up from his research.  His eyes were getting tired from poring over the small print in the dim light, and the last thing he wanted to do was lose his spot.  
  
Castiel continued speaking, his cadence slightly stilted. “If the pizza man truly loves this babysitter, why does he keep slapping her rear?”  
  
_What the fuck?_ He glanced up, his eyes darting to Sam's.  Sam looked dumbfounded, a red flush climbing his face.  
  
“Perhaps she's done something wrong,” Castiel said, almost but not quite to himself.  
  
Sam sent a trapped look towards Dean, who sighed internally.  Why did he always have to deal with this crap?

“You're watching porn?”  He hoped Cas could hear the disapproval in his voice. The stress of Sam's missing soul and their inability to locate Crowley had them all on edge, snapping and short with each other, but rubbing one out in the middle of the living space wasn't the way to deal with it.

Cas gave a quick, tiny nod without looking away from the screen.

“Why?"  
  
“It was there,” he said evenly.  
  
Dean could sympathize, he really could, but fucking hell did Cas need to learn about timing.   “You don't watch porn in a room full of dudes. And... you don't talk about it. Just turn it off,” he managed to growl out emphatically between gritted teeth.  
  
Castiel’s intense staring at the screen was broken as he looked down at his own lap, his face the picture of absolute bafflement. It only took an instant for Dean to realize why.

He turned away, rolling his eyes. “Oh, now he's got a boner,” Dean said, exasperated.

Sam jumped to his feet so fast he nearly knocked his chair over, catching it at the last second and aggressively pushing it against the table.  “I'm gonna go, uh, call Samuel, see where he's at,“ he floundered.

He nearly bolted past Dean and out the door. The thud as it slammed was loud enough that Dean winced.

Sammy had never been great with awkward conversations, even when he'd _had_ a soul.

Dean, on the other hand, could remember giving Sam " _The Talk_."  Well,  Dean's version of it anyway.  It had mostly been, don't jerk off where we can hear you, don't screw without a condom, and if it looks red, bumpy, or otherwise weird, don't touch it unless you want your junk to also look red, bumpy, and weird.  He'd then handed off a girly mag stolen from a gas station and considered his part done. Sam could figure out the rest from the public libraries he loved so much.

The kid had been mortified, but it all seemed to work out. There had been no unplanned babies at least, and that was all Dean could hope for.

The girl started to fake-moan, and Cas looked unsettled.   _Damn it_.  As much as Dean didn't want to, they might have to talk about it.

Dean stood and strode over to the couch where Cas sat.  He snagged the remote from the end table, and hit the power button.  The screen thankfully went black, and he dropped the remote back on the coffee table. He looked down to Cas, who was now focused on the remote.  

"Alright, do you need me to give you _'The Talk_ ' or can we skip that?" he asked.  He remembered the night he'd tried to get Cas laid when he'd thought the world was ending, but he'd assumed Cas knew what to do, and his only real advice had been about money and keeping things basic.

"I like when we talk," Cas replied in that frank way of his. Right.  Cas had trouble with euphemisms sometimes.

"No. I mean, yeah, talking's great," Dean clarified, seeing a touch of hurt on Cas' handsome features, "but there's a difference between talking and _'The Talk'_." The hurt disappeared only to be replaced with confusion.

"I do not understand," Cas admitted.  

Dean sighed. For this, he deserved a drink.  

He made his way to the fridge, grabbed a beer and popped the top, taking a couple good swallows. Then he returned to the couch and sat on the opposite end from Cas. He set the half-emptied bottle on the end table with a grimace, then leaned forward with his clasped hands between his knees.   

"Alright, angel sex ed, got it," he said grimly.  "Let's do this quick before Sammy gets over his embarrassment and comes back."

He kept his eyes on his interlaced fingers. He'd refused eye contact last time he had given _The Talk_ and by God, he wasn't about to change what worked.  

Out of the corner of his eye,  Dean saw Cas turn sideways, angling his body so he was facing Dean. "Is that a reference?" Cas asked.

Dean plowed forward. The only way out was through.  "You _do_ know how sex works, though, right? Like, physically?"

"I am an angel of the Lord, Dean," Cas replied.  "I was around when the planet went from pairs of each species to an abundance of fauna. Both times.  I do not find the mechanics confusing."

"Alright," Dean replied, relieved.  At least he wasn't going to have to explain the logistics behind playing hide the sausage to one of the heavenly host.

“What I do not understand,” Cas said, "is the direct sequence of these events.  They appear unrelated."

"Huh?" Dean said. He risked a glance over at Cas, who seemed intent on the dark television screen. The wrinkles on his forehead told Dean he was doing a lot of thinking.

“The pizza man.  He punished the babysitter repeatedly, but then she laughed and they began copulating with great enthusiasm. That does not seem like a logical conclusion."

Alright, so he wasn't going to be clarifying mechanics, but he'd still have to try to explain getting kinky to the most literal-minded angel he'd ever met. _Great._

"Physical injury does not seem arousing," Cas continued.  "I have been wounded many times, both in battle and as retribution, and it has never made me wish to engage in coitus."

Dean actually laughed at that and felt himself relax a little. He took another drink from the beer bottle before leaning against the back of the couch and looking up at the ceiling, stained beige from years of cigarette smoke. People did talk about this kind of shit with their friends sometimes, right? Just because his best friend happened to be an attractive celestial being…

"No, I wouldn't expect it to," he said.  "But he didn't injure her. It was pretend. Hell, a little smack like that'll barely leave a pink mark."  

And he felt he was in a good position to know.

Lisa'd had a pretty mean swing on her and a riding crop they'd both been fond of, and he'd picked up more than a few kinky one-night-stands over the course of his travels.

He fondly remembered the handsome biker with those _hands_ that had driven him wild in Tucson, although he'd forgotten his name. He'd only called him _Sir_ anyway.

There had also been the tiny brunette in Michigan whose nails had furrowed his back. She'd left him the next morning with a bruise on his cheek, bite marks across his torso, and a smile on his face.  He'd wondered if she was possessed, but she didn't react to the holy water so he figured she was just intense.

Intense was exactly how Dean liked it.

"Being hit causes pain," Cas pointed out. "And the hitting of a person's backside is a well-established form of punishment. It has been standard for millennia."

"Yeah, but not all pain is a bad thing. There are levels," Dean said.  "Sometimes pain can feel pretty good, given the right context. It's not like he was actually punishing her. That was just a few love taps."

He saw Cas blink thoughtfully, perhaps filing away the idea of a love tap.  "So where is the line between the kind of pain that is pleasurable and the kind that is punishment? I do not think I've ever encountered it.  Most everyone who has hit me was attempting, at the least, injury."

He and Cas had the oddest conversations.  This was going to be another one of those weird ones that crossed the line some. Like the one about personal space. He still wasn't completely sure that had sunk in yet.

"I mean, that's probably different for everybody," Dean said after considering for a moment.  He liked his partners intense and not afraid to rough him up, but he also knew that there were people out there who wanted a lot more pain with their pleasure, and some who kept things strictly vanilla. "If you want to make it pleasurable, it's gotta be at least a little sexy, you know?"

Cas repeated, "Sexy?"  The word sounded foreign on the angel's lips. "I do not understand that word in this context."

Dean laughed a little, determined not to make it too awkward. "Yeah, man.  You know? Take it slow, kind of sensual." He smirked, remembering for a moment. "You have to mix up the sensations, maybe tease 'em a little bit. Very few people will enjoy themselves if you just lay into them as hard as you can."   

Cas nodded as if considering. "So the intensity creates a punishment?" Cas asked. "Hitting hard?"

"Partly?" Dean said, unsure how to explain. "Sometimes hard can be good."  Damn it, what a wasted innuendo. "But it's more than that. It's…I don't know. There's an intention behind it.  Punishment is one intention, and it's mostly about pain, maybe a little fear, but like, the bad kind." Dean took another swallow of beer.  "When it's not punishment, it's supposed to be about fun, or sex, or trust or whatever. So even if you hit just as hard, it doesn't hurt the same way."

He shook his head aggressively.  "It just feels different, I guess. I mean, I remember being spanked as a kid, and I'll tell you right now, it ain't the same feeling."  

He thought of some of the childhood spankings he'd gotten. A couple had even been deserved. But he could remember being terrified and in pain too, and not understanding why his dad was so angry.  

John had never set out to beat his sons, Dean knew, but his temper had been explosive.  Occasionally in the heat of anger he'd hit too hard, go too far. He'd always tried, once he'd cooled down, to make it right. But Dean understood, better than most, that you can't always undo what you've done.

It was why he'd panicked so much when he'd shoved Ben.  Just like his dad, he'd unintentionally crossed that line, hurt his… hurt a kid. And just like his dad, he'd felt remorse but didn't know how to show it.  

"You'll know the difference.  You can feel it," he assured quietly. "As long as you're paying attention."

Castiel still looked a bit unsure. Dean sighed.  "Listen. If you want to try it, find someone you feel safe with and take it slow.  You can work your way up to something more intense if you want. Doesn't mean you have to have sex," he added hastily, remembering exactly how unsuccessful Cas' last attempt to get laid had been.  "Could hit up another brothel. There are ones where they'll smack your ass if you ask nicely."

"I did not enjoy the den of iniquity," Cas remarked.  "I doubt I would find another more pleasant."

Dean drained the last of his beer and set the empty bottle on the table.  "I dunno, dude, maybe we can find a chick for you at a bar," he said.

Cas shrugged.  "I do not understand why the gender of the person matters. I saw a video on another channel where the pizza boy was delivering to a fraternity house, but the overall plot seemed very similar."

Dean blinked as he processed Cas' words.  Apparently, the angel had been watching quite a bit of porn lately.  "Are you…interested in men, Cas?"

"All of God's children are beautiful," Cas said simply.  

That seemed like Cas-speak for yes.  Dean supposed he shouldn't be surprised.  A multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent, even in a human body, seemed unlikely to care about something so mundane.

"Well, you'll be safe enough whoever you decide, considering your angel-ness and all.  You'll be able to get what you're looking for." Dean's stomach twinged. He wasn't sure if he really liked the thought of some guy with his hands on Cas like that.

How stupid.  Not like it was any of his fucking business.

Cas hummed, noncommittal. He stood up, reaching, Dean thought, to grab the empty beer bottle from the end table.

And suddenly, Dean had a 5'11, 170lb angel sprawled face down across his knees.

"Cas, what the hell?!" he yelped, struggling wildly to stand.  That wasn't exactly easy with 170lbs of well-muscled angel in his lap.  He shoved at him almost instinctively.

Cas tumbled to the floor in an awkward heap of elbows, knees, and trench coat, and Dean surged to his feet in shock. He stared down, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. _What the fuck?!_

Cas sat up, crossing his legs and leaning back on his arms to meet Dean's eyes.  Dean realized that his mouth was hanging open and he shut it. His jaw clicked. "Cas, I...What?  That's not...I mean…"

The silence was thick.  Dean couldn't seem to find words, and Cas appeared to be trying to gaze into his soul.  

"I do not understand," Cas said quietly, staring intensely into Dean's eyes.  "You informed me that it was important to do this activity with a person I trust.  You are available, I am interested in experiencing this phenomenon. And I trust you."

Yes, Cas trusted Dean, and Dean trusted him back.  But it was one thing to trust someone, and another to do something like this.  If they did this… well, it wasn't exactly a thing that _friends_ do.  

Cas was beautiful, and Dean was aware of the strong chemistry between them.  Though it had always teetered on that narrow line between best friends and lovers, he'd never thought they'd cross it. And not just because he'd assumed Cas was only attracted to women.

It was an easy enough line to cross, but crossing back was nearly impossible. Dean had so few constants in his life.  He wasn't sure it was worth the risk. Especially now.

He wondered what Lisa would have said.  She had been pretty open, had never asked for his entire heart. She  had cared about him just as he was. And then, it was over, and he'd lost her completely.

Tears pricked at the back of his throat.   _Fuck_.  Now wasn't the time to think about her.

He took a deep breath.  "Uh…" he stalled.

Dean could feel warring impulses in his chest.  One was telling him to back out now, as gracefully as he could.  Suck it up and help Cas find some random hottie to show him why the babysitter was into the pizza man. He'd tried it before, when he'd thought the world was about to end.  It wouldn't kill him to do it again.

The other impulse, though, said, _You're never going to have a better chance._ His crush on Cas still existed despite his attempts to squash it. Apparently, the angel liked dudes too. And the idea of being the one to show this to Cas, to do it right, was appealing.

Hell, it had been awhile since he'd had anyone even ask him to spank them.  It wasn't that he never did--sometimes he'd be in the mood. But he had a real type, and it wasn't generally the sort who wanted to give up control.

Then, Cas quirked his head to the side.  "Ah. I understand," he said. He stood, pushing up to his feet without his hands and grabbed Dean's arm.  

In less than a blink, Cas was seated on the ugly couch and Dean found himself thrown over Cas' lap with a supernatural strength.  "You are more often on this side of the equation." His voice was matter-of-fact and implacable.

A frisson of fear shuddered through Dean's chest at how easily Cas had moved him.  He was as powerless as a child against the angel's might. His body froze, too panicked to even try to fight.

Dean usually enjoyed being manhandled, but this felt different, felt terrible, like the bottom dropping out of his world. He didn't know if he wanted this, if he could even tolerate it.  He hadn't even gotten the chance to seriously weigh his options. Hell, he'd only learned there were options!

His friendship with Cas was the only solid thing he had right now, and this could change it, could warp it. He couldn't even find the words to object, couldn't find _any_ words. Cas' arm across his back was the weight of the world, and all he could hear was the drum beat of his heart in his ears.

Humiliation burned unpleasantly at Dean's neck as Cas smacked him sharply on the ass 3 times in rapid succession. The resulting sting was warm, and might have been exciting if he'd been in any way prepared for it. Right now, it only brought confusion and shame.

Without any input from his brain, Dean's mouth angrily yelled, "Jesus fucking Christ, Cas!"

The silence was absolute and heavy for one long moment. The air seemed to crackle with electricity.Then Cas' voice rang out, and Dean heard the **_ANGEL OF THE LORD_** in his voice.

" **HOW DARE YOU BLASPHEME THE SON OF GOD!"**

Cas' growl was furious.  Dean recoiled from the angel's wrath, but there was nowhere to go.

Cas' hand came down with angelic strength and breathtaking force, the noise elemental, like the boom of thunder. Fiery pain lit up every nerve ending from the small of his back to the middle of his thighs.

Dean let out a howl of sheer agony once his breath returned, tears of pain nearly blinding him. His  belly seized with fear. He could still clearly remember Cas beating him to within an inch of his life in that dark alley, how sure he'd been that he would die at Castiel's hands.

This probably wouldn't kill him, but it might make him wish it had.

The next blow sent sizzling lightning bolts down his legs, and he flailed, helpless against the angel's strength.  "Cas, p-please!" Dean begged. _Fuck_! He tried to twist, to pull away, his body going on sheer survival instinct, but Cas was immovable.

 **BOOM** ! He could feel the bruises blooming under his skin as Castiel's hand ricocheted off his ass again.  "Cas!" Dean cried brokenly. "P-please!" He could hardly breathe. "I didn't m-mean it! I'm s-s-sorry!"  His scrabbling hand found Cas' ankle, fingers digging into the skin above his sock, silently pleading with Cas not to break him, not to break _them_.

There was a sharp intake of breath from Cas.

Dean cringed against Cas' knees in anticipation of the next terrible blow. But it didn't come. There was a long silence interrupted only by Dean's choking, heaving breath. For a moment, nothing seemed real.

Then Cas shifted, resting his hand softly on Dean's back.  Dean wasn't proud of the flinch it elicited.

"Dean," Cas' voice cracked slightly.  "I am going to stand us up now." The angel sounded as unsure as Dean had ever heard him.

Dean gave the ghost of a nod, not that the angel needed his permission, and Cas guided his shuddering body upright, then rose so they both stood in front of the couch, only inches between them.  Cautiously, every movement clearly telegraphed, Cas brought his hand gently to Dean's face.

Dean realized his cheeks were wet from tears. "'M sorry," he gasped again. Their eyes met for a moment, and Dean felt naked in all his pain.  He looked down.

"I tell you, any sin and blasphemy can be forgiven," Cas said quietly, "as long as you ask.  The Apostle Matthew was an idiot, but he got that right at least." He pulled Dean closer, tucking him against his chest as though the man was as fragile as spun glass. "I am sorry, Dean."

Dean could feel himself shaking. Massive bursts of adrenaline had been released into his bloodstream, and with nowhere for it to go, all he could do was tremble.

Cas' hand gently combed through his hair, the other still wrapped around his back.  His face was pressed against Cas' neck and the tears kept coming, independent of the pain. He could feel them where their skin met, melting in damp rivers down into Cas' shirt collar.

"I'm sorry Cas," Dean murmured hoarsely again. Three blows. Three of the worst he could even imagine, but three.  He ought to be angry, ought to be furious--it wasn't the first time he'd pulled out that particular blasphemous phrase and he'd never had an angel beat his ass for it--but all he could muster was a deep sadness.

Something had broken.  

"I believe I should have conferred with you more prior to beginning this endeavor," Cas said, and he no longer sounded like the gates of heaven speaking through the limited range of a human throat.  He sounded very human and remorseful. Dean could feel the angel's jaw moving against his cheek as he spoke. "I did not recognize that your reluctance was more than worries about positioning. You… you were not prepared to participate. This is what prompted your blasphemy, correct?"

Dean nodded into Cas' shoulder.  The hand in his hair pressed tighter.     

"My smiting was disproportionate, especially for a human," Cas said.  

 _Smiting_ , Dean decided, _was a good word for it_. His entire backside throbbed mercilessly from lumbar to knees, and he wondered if he'd even be able to walk.

There was no question he wouldn't be able to sit.

As though Cas had heard his thoughts, he turned his head slightly,  his lips pressing deliberately against Dean's temple. Every place where their skin touched suddenly flashed hot.  Then the heat was gone, and so was the pain.

Dean's knees went weak from the sudden absence of agony,  and Cas' arm tightened to keep him on his feet.

"You healed me," Dean mumbled, surprised.

"I harmed you," Cas replied.  "It was not fair treatment."

Dean swallowed.  "It really wasn't," he agreed quietly.  He pushed back from Cas' chest, and Cas let him.   

Dean no longer had any illusions about his ability to make the angel do anything.

Cas' blue eyes were so concerned, filled with genuine remorse.  Dean felt like he was drowning.

"I will not do it again." Cas took a deep breath.  "I am truly sorry, Dean," he said.

Dean's chest suddenly felt tight.  Where the hell did they go from here? Looking at Cas, he could see that the angel didn't know the answer either.

"I can't...I don't…" Dean took a deep, shuddering breath. "I need some time, ok?"  He wasn't ready to think about forgiveness yet. He didn't want to think at all.

Devastation flashed plain across Cas' face before he very deliberately schooled his expression to neutrality.  "Of course," he said softly. "Whatever you need."

Dean's heart jerked painfully in his chest.

The sound of a knock on the door startled both of them, and Dean moved on autopilot, grabbing his gun from the table along the way.

A glance through the spyhole showed Sam and Samuel. Dean took a deep breath, scrubbed at his face with the sleeve of his flannel, and rolled his shoulders back, deliberately burying his emotions under the facade of  _Dean Winchester ^_ _TM_.  He could drink his feelings away later.  

Right now, they had more important things to do.


	2. Castiel

It was later, when Castiel was alone, that he finally took the time to consider exactly what he had done to Dean.

After Meg, that ill-timed kiss, and the shock on Dean's face. After Sam banished him. And after Dean looked him in the eye and sincerely… sincerely thanked Castiel for helping them.

He'd known it was sincere, because when he'd looked into the deep, glorious green of Dean's eyes, his thoughts were so clear that he may as well have been speaking them out loud.

There was emotional pain there, and confusion, and absolute turmoil, but the man's gratitude was real.

It was astonishing enough that Castiel started to babble, about heaven and Raphael, and anything else he could think of to keep the sentences stringing together.   It was awkward and entirely beside the point, and yet he found himself unable to stop.

Dean, as usual, pretended everything was normal.

But of course, things weren't normal.  Castiel knew it. Dean knew it.

Castiel would not have been overly surprised if even Sam, whose soul was in the Pit of Hell, knew it.

He'd battered Dean beyond any reasonable punishment, and not for the first time.  His wrath at the blatant blasphemy had consumed his mind.

If Dean's fingers had not dug into his flesh, the press of skin against skin providing the connection that served as a conduit for his thoughts, Castiel might not have realized.

The blasphemy, although extremely sacrilegious, had not been intentional.   But that was the barest, surface thought.

Underneath it had roiled terror, a sickening fear that had chilled Castiel to the core of his being.  Dean, he'd realized in a flash, was afraid. It was not the physical pain, not the punishment itself. It wasn't even a fear of Castiel, which he could have understood, considering the smiting he had been delivering to Dean's vulnerable, human body.

It was a fear that stemmed from loss, a fear of trust broken.  Dean feared, more than any of the concrete, logical fears of a person being beaten, that this would damage them, their relationship,  beyond repair.

And once known, that fear had stopped Castiel in his tracks.

He hadn't known enough to fear that before.  They shared a profound bond, one that had survived other maltreatment and violence.  And yet, something about this was not the same.

And Castiel didn't understand why.

He had tried to fix it. He'd tried to reassure. He'd held him, trying to convey apology and forgiveness through their contact, but Dean had only thought of breaking, pain, and loss.

He'd healed the physical hurts with the deliberate touch of his lips to Dean's temple, hoping against hope that Dean would feel the affection, the immense regret in the gesture.

But Judas had betrayed his best friend with a kiss. A kiss didn't have to mean anything. And Dean had only felt shock that Cas had cared enough to heal the physical pain he'd created.  

He wondered if there had been remorse in Judas' kiss.  

He wondered if it mattered that there had been remorse, and even love, in his.

He'd felt Dean pull away. Not just from his arms, but also in some intangible way.  He'd nearly heard the door slamming in Dean's soul. It had reverberated through Castiel like a physical blow.

The request for space had not surprised him, but the searing pain it provoked had.  But he owed Dean much more than that, so if that was Dean's request, he would honor it.

The pain of it would be his own penance.

He only wished he knew why this thing, of all the many hurts between them, had been enough to send Dean reeling.

* * *

They continued, of course, to search for Sam's soul, together and as a group.  Their relationship had been strained but relatively courteous.

Castiel was conscientious that Dean needed time, needed space, needed to think. He attempted to provide that.

He had the feeling that he was doing all of this wrong.  Crowley was a very poor substitute for Dean, after all.

And then, everything went wrong

 

and Cas

 

just

 

disappeared

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Coming

 

back

 

began slowly

 

but rapidly gained momentum.

At first, he knew nothing, and then things came back in bits and pieces.

Dean was special, he realized, was something more. He wasn't sure why he knew this, but he did.

Dean was angry, was hurt.  He knew that too.

Then he knew what he'd done, both the large betrayals and the small ones.  Sometimes he was unsure which were which, but he felt their weight pressing into his bones.

It was overwhelming, the guilt and the conflict.  He shied away, refused to engage in anything more strenuous than a conversation about bees or the making of lunch.

He'd wanted, no, _needed_ atonement, but there was none to be found.

* * *

And then Dean came to him.

"Cas, I need a wingman," he said.

Castiel's stomach clenched.  He could not be that. Everything he'd ever touched, he'd destroyed.

"Dean…" he warned softly.  He was not willing to risk any further destruction.

But Dean had never been one to back away.

"You don't want to jump into the jaws of death, that's... fine," he said, and he didn't make eye contact, so Castiel didn't know what to make of the tiny hesitation.  "How about we run a little errand?"

And that was a small request, nearly nothing.  Castiel could not deny Dean something so reasonable.  He owed him that much.

So with a nod, he transported them to the barn that held Dean's Impala, the rush of his wings surrounding them.  

Dean cleared his throat.  "Thanks for the lift," he said.

Castiel nodded.  "My pleasure."

He watched Dean turn towards the vehicle, and once again, regret bit at him.

"Dean…" he said to the man's back.

Dean turned back towards him, his green eyes intense. "Cas, we've been over it. I get it – you can't help."  He sounded almost accepting.

Castiel felt uncertainty deep in his stomach.  How could he allow Dean, the man who was (had been?) his best friend, his profound bond, to do such a thing alone?

What kind of friend would that make him?

Hesitantly, Castiel asked, "If we attack Dick and fail, then you and Sam die heroically, correct?"

Dean raised his eyebrows, then lifted his right shoulder in a shrug. "I don't know. I guess."

Castiel felt the frustration and remorse bubbling inside him.  The pain of the distance between them burned in his chest. He did not want Dean or Sam to die heroically.  He did not want to be left here, alone.

"And at best, I die trying to fix my own stupid mistake. Or... I don't die – I'm brought back again."  The thought of that pain, that isolation, was overwhelming. He was standing at the gates of Hell, but this time, there would be no Dean to clutch to his chest, to grip tight and raise from Perdition. "I see now. It's a punishment resurrection. It's worse every time."

He could hear the resignation in his own words.

Dean blinked. His beautiful eyes locked into Castiel's.  "I'm sorry," he said. "Uh, we're talking about God crap, right?"

Or rather his mouth said that.  But deep in his thoughts, Dean wondered, _Does he really think he deserves that much punishment?_

But Castiel knew he did.  He'd betrayed the Winchesters, he'd betrayed the world.  He'd released the Leviathans. He'd worked with Crowley. And he'd hurt Dean, physically and emotionally, had damaged their relationship to the point that he wondered if it would ever be repaired.

He deserved that punishment, all right.  But he didn't want it. He despaired of it.

Without Dean… He didn't think he could face resurrection after resurrection.

What was a resurrection without a life to go along with it?

Before he'd even considered his actions, Castiel dropped to his knees in front of Dean.  The man took a startled step backwards, but Castiel reached his hands out. Not touching - he knew he could no longer presume his touch would be welcomed - but imploring.  "Please," he begged softly.

Dean stared down at him.  From this angle, he seemed to tower over Castiel. And despite his angelic grace and supernatural strength, despite his body's perfectly acceptable height and weight… Castiel felt small.

"What do you want from me, Cas?" Dean asked.  He wasn't joking, and he didn't sound angry. In fact, his voice was perfectly even and totally unreadable. His eyes were glued to Castiel's outstretched palms.

Castiel thought for just a moment before coming to the conclusion that he had nothing more to lose.

"I… Dean, I want you to punish me," Castiel said.

Dean's eyes snapped to Castiel's then, surprised, wary, sharp.  Contrasting thoughts flew through the man's mind, so fast that Castiel could only parse snippets.

_Out of his mind -- taking advantage? -- why would he -- don't fuck this up -- beautiful like that -- doesn't mean - apology -- this could -- bad idea? --  sorry -- so freaking good -- look at -- only human -- he's my -- forgiveness -- change everything -- knees like he's -- already did -- just nut up and -- beautiful -- opportunity again? -- aw fuck it._

The very last bit, Dean echoed aloud.

"Fuck it," he said quietly, and Castiel didn't know what to make of that, until Dean reached down and took his hand.  Dean's hand was large, warm and calloused in his as he pulled Castiel to his feet. His hands went to Castiel's shoulders, firm.

"You still want me to punish you?" Dean asked.  "For real? Or like you did that night?"

Castiel felt a wash of shame rise through him, causing blood to rush to the surface vessels of his face and heat his skin.  "I have performed many wrong actions, and there is such distance between us. I _am_ sorry Dean, and yet being remorseful is not enough.  And I…" He had to swallow because the pain of it was too much, was interfering with his speech as his throat refused to comply with his words.  But the pressure of Dean's hands on his shoulders was more connection and warmth than he'd felt in days. "I miss you. I love you. And I wish to make this right."  Oh Father in heaven, how he wished to make it right.

Dean took a slow, deep breath.  "Me beating you ain't gonna make this right, Cas," he said. He was studiously not looking Castiel in the eye.

Castiel dropped his head.  "Of course not," he said, unsurprised.  "But I thought an expression of remorse… and trust…like you said, might bring us closer to that path."

"Remorse and trust," Dean repeated.  He seemed to consider. "Do you even feel pain?"

Cas nodded slowly.  "Yes, although not like a human.  I… forget how fragile you are as a species.  You look so beautiful, so strong, and yet your bones can break and bodies bruise.  It is counterintuitive."

"I mean, I stabbed you in the chest when we met and you didn't even flinch," Dean pointed out.

"It was different, back when I was possessing Jimmy Novak as a vessel," Castiel conceded.  "There was more distance between myself and my vessel, less somatic sensation. But now, for all intents and purposes, I do not have a vessel.  This body is mine, created for me by God though it appears like Jimmy's, and he placed me within it. Pain is intended as a warning sign, and a complete inability to feel pain would not serve me well.  So although my pain tolerance is high, it's not insurmountable."

"And what happens if it's too much?" Dean sounded serious, so Castiel did not allow himself to smile at the idea that Dean could physically overpower him against his will.  Spectacular training and impressive build notwithstanding, he was still human.

"I do not believe it will be too much," Castiel replied, looking at Dean's strong but human arms,  his jaw with its trace of unshaven, dark blond hair, the beauty and balance of his face. "But if it becomes so, I will simply tell you."

"Right," Dean said.  His eyes finally rose to meet Castiel's, and there was a challenge in them.  "So you want me to put you over my knees, teach you a lesson? You think it'll make things better between us if I get a little revenge?  Cuz I'm going to tell you Cas, this ain't a _friendly_ activity here."  He paused for a second.  "Is that what you want? Because it'll change things."

There was a heat to Dean's voice that hadn't been there before, and his eyes spoke of a strange mix of wrath, hope, and the very beginning stages of lust. He'd seen that before, once or twice, but never what happened next.

And heaven help Castiel, but **_next_ ** really was what he wanted to experience with this attractive, angry human.  "Yes," he said, his voice solid and certain.

"Fine," Dean said.  He let go of Castiel's shoulders, looking around the barn although Castiel was unsure of what he was searching out.

Dean made a small noise that indicated success and disappeared into a shadow momentarily.  When he returned, he had a rectangular bale of straw tied with strings in his hands. He carried it over to the light, where Castiel waited, feeling uncertain.

There had not been hay bales in any of the informational pornographic movies he'd watched.

Dean dropped it to the barn floor, and dust motes and bits of hay flew up from where it had landed heavily. Dean dusted off his palms against each other, then looked at Castiel.  "Really, if this is supposed to be any kind of punishment, I ought to take my belt to you," Dean mused aloud.

Castiel swallowed.  He'd seen such punishments, of course. Beatings with a whip or strap were nothing new.  Angels held a long existence; he'd seen many things by now.

That however, was one of many things he hated watching. His Father mostly forbade him to interfere, and he'd heard the prayers of many frightened and hurting people suffering under the lash. "If you believe it necessary, I will comply."  The beatings seemed wildly unpleasant, if the reactions of the besieged were anything to go by.

But Castiel was, above all else, a warrior.  He could handle such physical pain, especially if it brought him closer to mending his torn relationship with Dean.

Dean's eyebrows shot up for a moment. "I don't know if I could even hit you hard enough to be much of a punishment without some kind of implement," he said.

Castiel was also unsure.  He could remember Dean explaining that the difference between hitting as punishment versus hitting as recreational activity was primarily intention, but also the amount of pain was important.

Dean hummed noncommittally and shrugged off his leather jacket  He hiked a thumb towards the bale of straw. "Bend over, I guess.  Take off the coat first. You can leave the pants up; those scrubs aren't gonna cut much of the pain anyway."

Castiel took a steady breath and an awkward few steps towards the innocuous hay.  He reluctantly took off his coat, feeling extremely bare and vulnerable dressed only in the white scrubs provided by the hospital.  He had not been without his coat since he'd _really_ returned, and psychologically, it played some part as a shield. He wondered if the removal of certain pieces of clothing was incidental, or practical,  or if it was meant to be part of the ritual.

Whatever it was, Castiel was not in favor of it.

He folded the coat anxiously and placed it on the covered vehicle next to Dean's before turning to where Dean watched, waiting on the other side of that baled hay.

Dean's hands rested on his belt buckle, not unbuckling it yet, but the threat of its use as a weapon was clear.  

Remembering Dean's orders, he carefully bent down, using the hay as a place to put his hands. The position was not comfortable, but Castiel had endured far worse, and he was determined to begin making amends.

"You sure you want to do this?" Dean asked, waiting.  

Ah yes.  Castiel felt the pointed sting of Dean's question.  Castiel hadn't asked, had assumed that Dean's willingness to discuss indicated a willingness to do. He hadn't allowed enough time for Dean to clear his thoughts and decide his wishes.

He dropped his head, feeling his own regret for a moment before answering, "I'm sure, Dean."

There was the bright, clinking noise of metal against metal, and the swish of leather being pulled rapidly against denim. Castiel felt a line of tension run down his bent back.

"If you need out, Cas, just tell me to stop and I will." He paused.  "That's a pretty important piece of all this, you get me?"

"I understand," Castiel reassured him.  

Dean's stepped over so he stood at Castiel's side.  Castiel twisted his head. He saw the belt, its metal end carefully curled away in Dean's hand, a short amount of its tail dangling, ready.

Dean's broad palm rested lightly at the small of his hunched-over back.  "You don't want to hit up here," he said softly. "You can ding a kidney, and for a human, at least, can cause some real problems."

There was a loud whirring noise that sounded like air being displaced. The strike landed hot, and Castiel took a deep breath. Dean raised his arm, and brought down a second, just as hard, directly over the first, followed by a third.

He stood up, breathing deeply at the buildup of the pain.  "Ow," he said, surprised. He had not truly thought this would create any amount of pain at all. However, things were already unpleasant.

Dean's hand pushed at his back.  "Unless you tell me to stop, we aren't done yet," he said, his voice dark.  "Stay down."

Silently, Castiel resumed his former position.

Dean struck again, his left hand braced against Castiel's back while the right one brought the belt directly below the line of three strikes he'd already created. This one was also three burning strikes, directly on top of each other.  Castiel let out another quiet, "Ow," but controlled his movements. It was not a simple task.

Dean continued to work his way down Castiel's buttocks, until the last set of three landed under the gluteal fold. His entire buttocks burned from the beating in a remarkably distressing way, and his eyes were watering.  He could feel his heartbeat in the lines that crossed his backside.

And then Dean paused the whipping and asked, "Feel punished yet?"

Cas thought for a moment.  "Yes. I find this highly uncomfortable.  It will reduce in intensity in a short while though."  

His angelic grace would strive to heal the wounds Dean had inflicted, but Castiel, being repentant, did not heal them directly. It would take more time for them to heal from the indirect power. He could feel the wheals left behind from the heavy leather like a burning fire at the moment though.

Dean nodded as though he'd already known, or at least guessed, this information.  "Alright. Good. Now stand up and I'll show you a little more."

Castiel stood obediently, resisting the urge to reach back and touch the area.  Dean pulled his hand from Castiel's back, and Castiel was surprised at the loss he felt, and also at the low, disappointed noise that escaped from his lips.

Dean smirked towards him, and there was a tiny hint of warmth that hadn't been there prior.  "Be patient," he chided, his tone almost… teasing? Castiel couldn't be sure, since Dean was avoiding his gaze.  It was very inconvenient, he decided, to need a window to the soul.

Dean worked his belt back through the loops in his jeans and buckled it, then sat on the hay bale and gave his right thigh a pat. "Alright, Cas. You can bend over my knee now."

Castiel hesitated.  "You threw me to the floor before," he said.  "Are you certain?"

"See, that's the question you should have asked _last time_ ," Dean said, a little sharply.  "But yeah, right now, I'm ready for it.  So either get over my knee or tell me to stop."

Castiel nodded again, and awkwardly leaned over.  This time, Dean caught him and helped guide him across until his hips were braced against Dean's thigh.  It was relatively comfortable to be resting across Dean's lap like this, although there was a certain vulnerability and ignominy to the position. Dean's arm wrapped around his waist, and he felt the man's abdomen move as he took a deep breath.

"Butt still hurt?" Dean asked.

"Yes," Castiel answered honestly.  It was still sore, although he could already feel the damaged tissue healing itself. Within 15 minutes, he was certain it would be as though nothing had happened.

"I'm gonna use my hand now," Dean said, and Castiel felt a small, pleasant jolt low in his belly.

In the video, the pizza man had also used his hand.  

Dean had said, then, that what the pizza man did wasn't punishment. Was this part meant to be a punishment? Or was this supposed to be one of the other things now? Fun, or sex, or trust?

"Ok," Castiel replied softly.  Either way, he decided, he wanted it.

He might have missed Dean's tiny whisper of, "Good boy," if he had possessed normal human hearing.  It sent a wash of inexplicable warmth through him.

And then Dean's hand came down hard on his already wounded right buttock, and Castiel gasped.  He was unsure whether the feeling that rushed through him was pain or pleasure, but he liked it.

He _really_ liked it.

He heard Dean chuckle then, but it was warm, not mocking.  "That was good, huh Cas?" His hand rubbed gently where it had just fallen, and the contact sent a tingly rush through him.

"Yes," Castiel said, too distracted to say anything but the honest truth. He clutched at Dean's calf with one hand, wanting more contact.

Dean's hand rose again and came down on the opposite side, and Castiel gasped again.  He'd known it was coming, but he still hadn't been prepared for the actuality of it.

It was a new sensation, unlike any he had perceived before.  Objectively, he knew Dean was using significant strength. His flat hand snapped against Castiel's body, landing with a considerable jolt of a feeling that Castiel's first instinct was to call pain--except pain was a negative experience.  

And this was the furthest thing from a negative experience that Castiel could imagine.

Dean's hand fell again, and again, slow, strong slaps with no real pattern as to which side he struck.  And then his hand came down directly in the center of the lower curve of his rear, and Castiel groaned as a pleasantly painful heat rolled through him.   

Oh yes.  He was beginning to see why the babysitter had been ready to have sexual intercourse with the pizza man.

He could feel blood filling his genitals now, the experience that Dean had called "a boner," before.  It was somewhat flummoxing to him still, how different it felt than it looked. Not that he could see it in this position. But it had looked slightly ridiculous yet it felt amazing.

He wondered if Dean would find this uncomfortable, if he could feel the press of Castiel's penis between them.  Humans had such odd hang-ups about bodies and anything related to sexuality, after all. The man's breathing speed had also increased, which could be a sign of sexual arousal, physical effort, or both.

Dean's left hand grasped at the back of Castiel's shirt, pulling it partially up and away from the waistband of his trousers. "You wanna lose the pants?" Dean asked, his right hand resting on Castiel's sore backside, gliding his palm across the battered places. Castiel made an undignified noise of appreciation.  Dean's voice was a little ragged. "How far are we taking this?"

"Farther, please," Castiel managed to whisper, and he was surprised at how tiny and quiet his own voice sounded, and at how much he hoped to please Dean.  Everything was softened and fuzzy around the edges.

"I'm gonna take your pants down," Dean warned him. His voice was hot, sending shivers of arousal down Castiel's spine.  "Gonna spank your bare ass, just like the pizza man spanked the babysitter. You got any objections to that?"

And Castiel found no objections whatsoever.  He shuddered slightly and obligingly lifted his hips up.

Dean chuckled again and helped him pull his trousers and boxer shorts down to the bend of his knees, leaving him partially naked and-- oh. Oh!

When he rested again against Dean's lap, he felt the firm press of Dean's erection against his belly, only a layer of denim between them.  And he was very aware of his own pressing against Dean's thigh.

Dean did not appear to have any hang ups about this.  In fact, Castiel heard a low moan from Dean as Castiel squirmed slightly, attempting to readjust his position.  Dean's calloused palm slapped hard against the bare skin of his backside and Castiel actually whined from the pleasure-pain of it.  "Dean, please!"

"You want me to stop?" Dean asked. But his hand against Castiel's skin showed only _please don't make me stop, so fuckin' hot_ running through Dean's brain.

Castiel wildly shook his head, prompting another pleased laugh from Dean.  He continued to lay swat after swat, rubbing teasingly at the skin of Castiel's backside between spanks.  Castiel squirmed, feeling his testicles draw tighter to his body.

"I can see that you're enjoying yourself," Dean whispered hoarsely. his fingers drifting down towards Castiel's testicles.  Another swat on the undercurve of his buttocks jolted him forward, and Castiel could feel the drag of Dean's penis against his belly, and the way he jerked in response.  

Castiel was not the only one thoroughly enjoying himself here.  He didn't need to read Dean's thoughts ( _fucking beautiful, so hot,  look at that ass_!) when he could feel Dean's body responding.

"You almost there, Cas?"  The teasing hand ran a finger over Castiel's heavy testicles, and Castiel nearly sobbed at the feeling, so unprecedented  yet amazingly right.

"Almost," he begged.  "Dean..." He ground himself harder against Dean's leg.

Another firm slap rocked him.  

"It's a lot better this way, wouldn't you say?" Dean demanded. "When you ask for what you want?"   _SMACK_!

Castiel moaned, nodding, but apparently that wasn't all Dean had hoped to hear.  Dean continued.

"Did you learn your lesson or not,  Cas? I wanna hear you ask for what you want. Use your words." SMACK! SMACK!

"Dean, please!" He was so close.  "Spank me, touch me, just...I want...Dean I want _you_!"

He heard Dean gasp then, as though he found this information new, as though he had never realized how Castiel looked at him, how he touched him, how profound and tenacious their bond was.  His hand hovered in the air above Castiel.

"You want me?"  And Dean shouldn't sound so disbelieving, so unsure.  "You gonna be mine, Cas? Not Crowley's, not Meg's, not Daphne's, and sure as shit not the Leviathans? Just mine?" The tone was more serious now, as serious as it could get while one was nearing the brink of orgasm.

And wasn't that what Castiel had wanted since the moment he'd grasped Dean's beautiful soul desperately to his chest and pulled him out of Hell?  "Yes!" Castiel sobbed. It echoed through the barn.

"Go for it babe," Dean said, and suddenly, Dean was rearranging him just enough to get his hand around Castiel's penis, his hand working desperately,  and in a matter of moments the stimulation reached the threshold. Castiel felt his abdominals jolt rhythmically a few times and then with a shout, he was flying without his wings, colors flashing behind his eyelids as the pleasure overtook him.

"Good boy," Dean murmured softly, and it lit up Castiel's chest even as he collapsed bonelessly against Dean's strong thighs.  Oh yes, this man was exactly who he wanted.

Dean pulled his sticky hand out from between them, rubbing some of the semen onto the hay. Castiel was breathing heavily, but managed to drop down to his knees on the barn floor.  "Dean," he said, and he was surprised that his voice sounded even lower than usual. "May I kiss you?"

Dean swallowed hard, then nodded, his eyes wide.  Castiel could see the arousal in them, and also an acknowledgement that he was probably going to be suffering something called 'blue balls' if he didn't get a chance to 'get off' relatively soon.  Castiel was unsure what either of those things meant, but he'd surely ask once they were finished.

Castiel wedged his body between Dean's spread knees and curled his hands into Dean's hair, then pulled him into a hard kiss. He teased his tongue into Dean's mouth and Dean let him, a groan rising in the back of his throat.  And this kiss was remarkably better than the one he'd planted on Meg, because he could feel how much pleasure Dean was deriving from it too. He pulled back slightly, kissing at his stubbled neck.

"Dean, may I show you something else I learned from the pizza man?" Castiel wanted to reciprocate, but he wanted very much to do it right this time. He had, after all, learned his lesson.

"I dunno, Cas," Dean said, his voice husky.  "What do you want to show me?"

Castiel inched backwards, making space.  "I believe the fraternity brothers called it a 'blow job?'"

Dean blinked at him momentarily, and though their eyes were locked, absolutely no thoughts were evident in his mind.  And then suddenly Dean was tearing at his fly.

"Oh fuck yes!"


	3. Resolution

Later,  after Dean had finally cum (the pizza man had given Cas a fine education on blow jobs as well) and he'd gotten dressed in jeans from Baby's trunk that weren't splattered with bodily fluids, they sat together peacefully in the front of the Impala. Dean was leaning into Cas' chest, and Cas' arms were around him. 

Listen, Dean wasn't going to apologize for being a cuddler, ok? After some good sex, there was something nice about holding each other. And the Impala was a time-honored place to do it.

"I'm not good luck, Dean," Cas murmured into Dean's hair, breaking the silence. 

Dean immediately sighed.  But he knew that time was growing short; if they were going after Dick tonight, before any more damage could be done, they needed to get moving. 

"Yeah, but you know what? Bottom of the ninth, and you're the only guy left on the bench…"  He looked up at Cas, whose grip had suddenly tightened like he was afraid Dean was going to run. "Sorry, but I'd rather have you, cursed or not."

In the dim light, it was difficult to read Cas' expression.  He put on a deliberately lighter tone. "And anyway, nut up, all right? We're all cursed. I seem like good luck to you?"

_ To be fair,  _ Dean thought _ , everything seems like good luck right after you cum. But the afterglow of that has to be wearing off by now _ . 

Cas' hand moved to Dean's jaw, tipping it up so he could kiss him again.  And shit, kissing Cas was pretty great, so he leaned into it for a long, breathless minute.  "What was that for?" Dean asked once Cas pulled back. 

"Well, I don't want to make you uncomfortable," Cas said softly, "but I detect a note of forgiveness."

"Yeah, well, I'm probably gonna die tomorrow, so…" Dean dropped his head against Cas' collarbone.  "I think I can forgive the guy who said he was gonna be mine and only mine. Especially after you sucked my soul out through my dick."

He felt Cas startle.  "That substance was not your soul, Dean," he said. " I believe it is colloquially known as--"

"Jeez, take a complement," Dean huffed, amused. "I know what it's called."

Cas nodded and took a very deep, deliberate breath. "Well, I'll go with you," he said quickly.  "And I'll do my best."

Dean couldn't help the soft smile Cas' earnest statement brought up, or the gratitude that followed it. 

He didn't want to be doing this, but he was glad that Cas would be there at his side when he did. 

"Thanks, babe," he said softly. He found Cas' hand with his own and gave it a squeeze. 

Cas squeezed back.  "So, can I ask the plan?"

Dean smirked.  "Well, according to Crowley, Dick knows we're coming, so we're gonna announce ourselves – big."


End file.
